


The Etymology Of Us

by Space_Interrobang



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dissociation, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Interrobang/pseuds/Space_Interrobang
Summary: Soon after almost armageddon, an angel who's just begun to make his own choices finds himself helping a woman outside his shop and forming an unexpected bond. It could have been coincidence now that he's decided to side with the humans that he feels emotions unlike before, but the universe is rarely so lazy.





	1. Strings of Fate

There was rain. Only, she couldn't see it. The soft pitter of fat droplets hit her skin...or was it had hit? She held out her hand palm down and watched. Gaze moving sluggishly. Water never came. In fact, all of her was dry. It was odd, she thought. The last time she was cognizant there was lots of rain. And a bookshop.

Raising her eyes above she read the same sign. "A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and unusual books." The woman was meandering in a daze. Concentration solely harnessed for moving her limbs. Even they refused to listen sometimes, but she had made it off the train and down the streets to...to something. Like an invisible force had lead her feet. It felt right, being at this bookshop. The fact she felt at all told her this was right. Outside stimulents rarely made it through the thick fog wrapped around her mind in times such as the one she was in.

Her eyes dragged down to her hand that was still poised in front of her. Putting her effort into extending her reach. The door handle...perhaps holding something solid would help clear the fog. Sight, smell, hearing, tasting, touching.

Except it was then that she realized the door was several steps away. The woman began to put a foot forward, but it got caught. Jolting mid-step. Her knees skid on the sidewalk, and she failed to catch herself. Shoulder crushing on concrete. So she was laying on her side. There were shoes walking past. Lots of shoes. Must have been a crowded street.

It was as if gravity needed some extra money and decided to work overtime. With great more effort the woman turned her head. Lifting it from the ground to stare at the sidewalk. There were particles of red dirt mixed with the regular brown in between every crack. Then she slowly lifted her free arm. Back of her hand scraping on the uneven, rough surface before leveraging her palm down flat. Flecks of dirt and loose gravel digging into the meat of her hand. She took two deep breaths. Letting the coarse bits make their impression. Let them stay. Something from the outside world catching on the wall of delirium. After the reprieve she pushed up and tensed when there was weight on her shoulderblade. There was heat bleeding through the fog and touching her back. A hand. Someone's hand was on her. She stopped everything. Paralyzed herself to open her ears. Breathing shrinking in her chest as all else fell away aside from a voice. It was rather light. Not that it was quiet, but it actually sounded like light. Warm and bright and soft. Articulate, too. Cooing gently at her.

"Miss? Madame? Oh you poor thing. Don't worry they're gone. I'm going to help you up."

The woman wasn't sure who they were, but it didn't matter if they were gone. The voice sounded like they'd been trying to talk to her before she heard. She had been on the ground for a while. Perhaps he'd been attempting to get her attention before deciding to just help anyway. She shut off her hearing once more in order to use her legs. It wasn't a conscious decision, but it happened as arms pulled her upright. It was automatic, how she used this strange warmths shoulder to lean on as she tested her own weight on her feet. Once she steadied her grip disappeared. Fingers sliding down an almost velvety fabric to her sides. Looking at her own shoes to confirm she was indeed standing up.

Then her focus broadened. Heat still seeped onto her back. It took her forearm as well and urged her forward. Her actions weren't deliberate anymore. Fumbling to keep up with the strange warmth. Foregrounds blurred, and after a few moments the heat left and she realized she was inside the bookshop. Sitting down. She doesn't remember sitting down, but as she looked down everything pointed to her having done it. There was a pinkish/creamish cushion under her with flowers printed on it. They were on the back and arms too which were carved to be rounded off in an ornate way, and far too low to be functional for anybody's arms. So she rested hers on her thighs. Hunching slightly. When she was certain she was sitting in a chair her gaze lifted. There were far too many details to take in. Her vision darted around to get a general lay of the area.

The chair she was in was backed against a bookshelf. It was beside one of the front windows and a column. One of four in the rounded room which reached past the second floor to the ceiling. The bottom half of the windows were covered by stacks of books. So were the two round tables in front of her, and just about every surface not being used as a walkway. The building was enormous; much larger than it appeared on the outside. It only looked average because of the clutter. There was even four metal letters mounted on each side of the space between the ground floor ceiling and first floor balcony marking south, north, east and west. The woman took a big breath in and immediately felt her chest decompress a bit. It smelled like old parchment and something homey that always seemed infused into book shops. Her hearing opened again.

The shop was almost totally silent save some light rustling in the back. The fact no street noise bled over was a miracle. She was thankful for it. She kept her eyes away from the windows to be sure the expansion of her world was in small areas at a time. Her senses had been isolated inwardly for so long that she hadn't felt real until the warmth from that strangers hands. It would take some adjusting to return to her usual self.

The woman shifted her own hands to grip the edge of the seat. Rocking back and forth gently. Feeling the fabric on her skin. Feeling something solid beneath her.

Footsteps padded closer, and her gaze snapped over to a man as he rounded a bookshelf into view. He was in a three piece cream and tan suit with a neutral plaid bowtie. His nose was sharp, but his face was round. Short blonde hair mussed to perfection atop his head. When he knelt in front of her she registered the first aid kit, but found his visage to be much more captivating. There was nothing distinctly unique or breathtaking about it, but she found herself picking out details. His blue irises, the wrinkles around his eyes where he smiled a lot, and the ones on his forehead from worry that were deepening as he looked at her.

"Please, allow me to see your hands." The light voice was back. The woman understood his words, but could not bring herself to stop rocking. "You took quite a fall out there. I only wish to make sure any injuries are tended to." The stranger picked up a rag and dabbed some kind of disinfectant alcohol on the corner then looked at her expectantly. She only kept rocking. His gaze softened. Tone and words slowing. "Can you...understand me at all, my dear?" She didn't want to release her grounding object, but now that he had mentioned it her hands did sting.

Her eyes flitted to the side. Then her fingers had a book. She put her arm around it. Clutching it to her chest. Fingertips stroking up and down the spine. Feeling the leather and the curves and embossments. Then she held up her other hand to the stranger. He offered a kind smile and gingerly held her wrist so her hand was still as she kept rocking. It felt good, him touching her skin. It felt real.

The woman watched as he wiped the dirt and dust from her palm. Revealing two little red scratches by her thumb. It wasn't bleeding, but the skin had broke. The alcohol stung, but not enough to wince.

"I'll get you taken care of in no time. I suppose I won't get a name out of you, and you couldn't exactly read my lips looking at the ground before. My name is Aziraphale. This is my book shop."

The woman tilted her head slightly. He thought she was deaf?

After a moments contemplation she supposed it was a fair assumption. She hadn't responded to anyone outside until he touched her, and refused to speak. Plus she was staring a good bit. He didn't seem put off by it like most others, though. He seemed nice.

"Now the other one, if you'd be so kind."

She was having difficulty telling her hands to switch places. After a few seconds passed Aziraphale gently pushed her clean hand to the book and took her other wrist to repeat the process. That hand only had one scrape, but it went deeper and he had to wipe a piece of gravel from her palm below the pinky. That time the pain made her flinch and jerk away, but his grip on her wrist tightened enough so the wound would be properly sanitized.

He apologized under his breath. "Do your knees hurt at all? What about your shoulder? Anywhere else?" After each question he glanced at her then finished up. Putting his first aid supplies away and smiling at her. "Would you care for some tea? Nothing like a nice warm drink to relax you after a bad day." It was so sincere and plain. No double meanings or hidden anything. He was simply being generous for the sake of it.

The woman held the book to her chest with both hands then. Missing his soothing touch. She still couldn't make herself move much, but she didn't want to yet. He must have understood her on some level because his grin widened and he nodded. Standing up and straightening his vest.

"Lovely. I'll return shortly."

It was once he turned around that the main entrance opened and another man sauntered in. He had short red hair and sunglasses. Wearing all black with a skinny scarf loosely tied as a mock tie.

"Ah, Crowley," the book shop owner greeted cheerfully. "Just in time for tea. You will come and help me, won't you?"

The new character might have glanced at her as he passed, but she couldn't tell through his dark lenses. They both disappeared between the shelves to some back room, but they didn't bother lowering their voices so as long as she listened she could hear them.

"What's with the rocking girl out front? She sick or something?" It must've been Crowley. His voice was deeper than the bookshop owners. A bit rougher, but not too far removed from Aziraphale. He sounded more lax.

"I do get customers sometimes, you know."

"Something's not right with her."

"She was being harassed by some street hooligans-"

"As opposed to the other type of hooligans."

"Crowley," the owner whined. Not enjoying being teased. "This is serious. I don't think she's...in fact she may be deaf. I took her in here once I saw how rough they were getting outside."

"Is she hurt?"

"Just a few scrapes thankfully. Nothing a little tea and time won't heal."

"You consider that she's just nonverbal at the moment?"

"Yes, but, well, she seems to understand only some of the time. The teenagers outside kept goading her with all these awful names, but she never responded. It was like she was totally shut down."

There was a long silence. The woman reflected. It was a good thing she was so shut down, she guessed, so she didn't hear those people outside making fun of her. And it was good the book shop owner had seen. It was good he guided her inside. It was good the space was quiet and devoid of many stimulents. It was allowing her world to expand again. Although her lack of control over her actions coupled with a safe space made her want to panic, but finding herself unable to. No matter how she tried, it was only memories of panic that came to her. It was frustrating, but the only reaction she had was a raised heartbeat.

"There you are, my dear," Aziraphale said. Standing in front of her once more. Holding out a plain white mug. His friend pulled over another chair matching hers and plopped down. Legs spread and sunken partially in the seat. Holding his own tea from the top instead of the handle as he drank.

She tried to take the mug from the book shop owner, but she only kept rocking. Her eyebrows came together, lips pressed into a thin line, trembling. Then she bowed her head. Chin on top of the book. Becoming more upset. It was so frustrating she could cry. She couldn't even do that, though. She wanted to scream. Why couldn't she make her body do what it was told?

"Perhaps we should let it cool off a bit first anyway." There was a clunk. A mug being set on a table. "What...what book did you find?" His warmth was back. Pushing her fingers down the spine to reveal the title. Her rocking slowed. Distracted from her frustration. That touch. Feeling another real, living person brought a wave of peace. Her eyes flickered to his hand, but just as soon as she did it retreated back to his waist. "Ah, my collection of old english poetry. Not translated I'm afraid. Don't know why I have it, really. There are plenty of modern english versions online these days. I suppose I'm rather partial to the sight and feel of old parchment. There's nothing quite like holding a physical manifestation of all those stories and wonders in your hand. Oh, and the smell-"

"Angel," the other man called. "Rambling."

"Yes, sorry."

He was right, the woman thought. The owner, that is. Books were the very real physical expression of metaphysical ideation. Her heartrate slowed. Feeling the leather beneath her fingertips. She had been cradling this very real thing against her chest for several minutes and it hadn't slipped away. Proving she was among these very real things surrounding her. It was her comfort. Her mind relinquishing control to her. The woman looked down, and layed the book in her lap. The movement came easier. No longer frozen. Her limbs listening as her ears did. So she opened the pages. The corner of her mouth quirking upward as her hand caressed the paper. Tracing the over-stylized calligraphy printed in ink. Trying to vocalize herself next. Tongue slow and heavy in her mouth at first.

"I like old books."

Both men froze in their spots. Crowley smirked after a moment. The woman sighed happily. Feeling lighter after her words connected from her brain to her mouth. Her voice was hers, and it fused the last bits of herself together after being apart in the fog for so long. Though it was barely above a whisper.

"You...are you alright?" the shop owner worried. "Oh dear, I do hope I haven't offended you in any way for my assumptions. I am deeply sorry for the conversation between my friend and I that you so obviously heard earlier."

She raised her eyes to his face and smiled. Pouring as much warmth and sincerity into her tone as he had expressed in every moment with her.

"Thank you." He must have seen the absolute truth behind the words from the life glimmering in her eyes. Worry melting away to a tender smile. Showing off those lines around his eyes she spotted earlier. He looked beautiful like that. Something about it felt very him. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm sorry that my actions upset you."

He rushed to kneel before her again. If only to be eye level. "All is forgiven. We're only happy you're all right after such an ordeal."

Her smile waned, and she carefully closed the book. Setting it atop a stack on the floor where she had originally grabbed it. The owner got the mug of tea he had set aside and she took it.

"It was...I'm not sure how long it lasted, but it was a sort of disaccosiating spell. You helped me come back, so thank you."

"Helped you come back...?"

"You're very...real," she grinned. "It's confusing to explain. Just...thank you."

A bit of pink entered his cheeks. "Well...it was no trouble at all, really."

"Those episodes happen a lot to you, do they?" the other man questioned. Setting his now empty mug on the floor. She idly wondered how he didn't scald his mouth.

"Oh no, very rare. I was...coming here, then it rained, then I was...coming here again? Only it wasn't raining. Felt like I was replaying the day or something. Like I was set on automatic."

The two shared a strange look, but didn't press it further which she was grateful for. The shop owner getting to his feet. Hands poised in front of his waist almost like he was fiddling with a button on his vest. She took a sip of the tea.

"Well, all's well again. You're more than welcome to have a look around. There's enough books here to occupy hundreds of years of your time, I assure you. None of the shelves are labeled, I'm afraid, but I'm always willing to entertain a fellow book lover on a tour around should you so desire."

"That sounds lovely." Truly she wanted to see what was available and to learn more about this wonderful shop, but her motivations for the exuberant acceptance wasn't wholy untainted. She also wished to listen to the owners voice more. His bright, passionate personality bursting forth and infecting the area around him. "I love your name, by the way: Aziraphale. I've never heard anything like it. Putting the first and last letters of the English alphabet together at the start, like your name is a promise that there's more after the end. It's beautiful."

"We-well, I'm..." he stammered. "Quite flabbergasted. I...I'm not sure I deserve such flattery, but I assure you it means a great deal and I shall take it to heart." The blush was back. "Thank you..."

"I'm Mira." The woman stood and extended her hand for him to shake. He did. He felt even hotter than before. Maybe because it was his palm. The other man raised his hand in a weak wave from his seat. Arm slung across the back.

"Anthony J. Crowley. Most people just stick to Crowley though."

"Is that what you prefer?"

"Guess so."

"All right. It's nice to meet you both. It's been a long time since I've met anyone outside school."

"School?" Crowley asked in disbelief. Scoffing. "You're well past your teenage years."

"No," Mira chuckled at the misunderstanding. "I'm a professor at the university. Also, I think I look quite young for someone who's only just turned thirty."

"What is it you teach?" Azirphale asked.

"Philology."

His eyes lit up. Interest and passion shining brighter than a star. "I too enjoy studying languages."

"Must do," Crowley added. "With all these ancient things."

"Do you restore the books too?" she questioned.

"I do indeed," Aziraphale beamed. Pride making him stand taller. He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by Crowley. Waving his hand around lackadaisicaly as he talked.

"Hold on hold on. Hold on. Clearly this is turning cutesy and it's all very mushy goody-goody whatever, but we can't just skip over the harrassment bit. Why didn't you react to those people on the street? Weren't you angry? Hurt? Didn't you want to fight back, even if you weren't totally in control of yourself?"

"To be honest I didn't notice anyone until Aziraphale helped me off the pavement. I was just walking around in a fog all day."

"Well you're acting remarkably calm about it all."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't praise."

"Sounded enough like it," she shrugged. Drinking her tea. Its heat and sweetness coating her tongue and lightening her heart. "This is wonderful tea, by the way. You didn't have to waste it on a stranger."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale assured. "Doing something to make another smile is never a waste. Especially for such a darling. Why, sharing a cup of tea with good company on a quiet afternoon is-"

"What?" Crowley interrupted bitterly. "Tickety-boo?" Aziraphale didn't lose heart.

"I was going to say spiffing, but I do like that one. Why, any small kindness that brings joy to others is absolutely tickity-boo."

Mira chuckled and looked down to avoid his eyes. Voice quiet. "You make that sound sweet."

"Oh go show her the shop," Crowley grumbled. "I can't take much more of this."

Aziraphale's smile sunk a little as he admonished his friend with a look then repainted it as he lead her away. Going between two shelves towards the back. There was a little room with a desk, sink and bed tucked away, and beside it a doorway that lead to stairs. They ascended and strolled a few shelves down.

"I apologize on behalf of my friend. He can be a bit...distant some of the time, but he really has good areas deep down. Ah, here we are." The owner held his arm out to the side. Pointing her to a sitting area. There was a worn green couch against the left shelf, two leather armchairs on the right, and an oval coffee table with a chess set on it between. "This shelf behind the sofa you see there is all for the history, old philiological theoretics, morphology, semantics and syntax of some of my favorite languages through time. It's the only one that delves deeper into each language, but various perusers have been known to run across an old text or two in here that's written wholey in its native tongue. If you have a particular interest I'm always around while the shop is open to answer any inquiries or simply have a delightful chat."

Mira was already moving to put the mug on the table. Fingers caressing the spines of the old tomes. "Do you ever rent out books?"

"Afraid not, but you're always welcome to sit and read. Providing the shop is open, that is."

"Of course. That's generous, thank you."

"Open door policy," he chimed and clapped his hands together.

"How long have you been collecting?" The question threw an unexpected wrench in their conversation. Aziraphale stumbling a bit more like he was physically incapable of voicing certain words.

"We-well that's...I don-I...The shop's been attatched to my name for a long time, so that's...hard to say."

She paid it no mind. Nodding in understanding. "Ah, took over from your parents. Duh me. I mean, no one person could aquire all these treasures in one lifetime. It's very well cared for." Mira smiled over her shoulder. "You must love it a great deal."

"Oh yes," he sighed. "I've always loved watching things change through history. All these clever innovations with humans at the forefront. Bounding forward with such confidence. To preserve that knowledge, it's...well it's an honor."

Her smile widened a fraction. Turning to face him properly. He held so much passion and joy in him. It filled the shop. Disappaiting any foulness that might've contaminated her mood from her episode earlier. Aziraphale could brighten any room, she suspected. Perhaps she was drawn by fate to his book shop. Some connection weaving the two of them together. Like invisible ink had drawn their link centuries ago among the pages of other nice and accurate events. There was a pull there. A desire to be closer.

"You're rather amazing, aren't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know, I just have this feeling..."

"...oh?" His blush returned. "Wha-what feeling would that be?"

"Warm...and kind. I don't...think I've ever felt this relaxed around someone before. Certainly not this quickly anyway. There's something very peaceful and happy about you. I'm...sorry if that sounds weird, I just..." The sentence trailed.

"Not at all," he replied. It didn't carry the same amount of vigor. She doubted he totally believed the words. It was more to comfort her. "You really don't need to keep complimenting me, dear. It's appreciated, but I'm only doing what any decent person would do."

"Well, decent people," she smirked. "Deserve to be flattered."

He looked down bashfully. "You're too kind."

She got the strange urge to make contact with Aziraphale. A simple hug, or something. Nothing untoward. She never felt the need for anything untoward, but it was extremely rare she'd want physical contact from someone. And never before from a stranger. As if there were tethers tightening between them and they'd snap if she didn't move closer. Him tending to the scrapes on her hands earlier flashing in her mind. There was no denying the deluge of peace he evoked from her. Her heart could burst her chest felt so full. His presence was bliss.

Mira swallowed thickly and glanced around. It was getting dark outside. Could've been rain clouds, but she wasn't going to take that chance. It also provided her an escape from these sudden desires. Such wants frightened her to a degree. In the past they'd lead her to very uncomfortable situations. She'd rather avoid the temptation than repeat her mistakes. This shop owner was too good. There was bound to be a shadow poised to choke her on her own dissolution.

"I should go back to my flat. It's getting late and who knows what state it's in, but I'll be back. I could never pass on an opportunity to read these books."

"Of course."

"Thank you again for all your help, and the company. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

Aziraphale blinked and opened his mouth, but she was already walking briskly away. Going down the stairs and throwing a quick goodbye to Crowley before exiting the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title was "someone please hug Aziraphale he's precious and deserves love".


	2. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to tempt Aziraphale. What else is new?

Once the front door shut Aziraphale was knocked out of his shock. Strolling to the ground floor to find Crowley taking off his sunglasses. Twirling them around. Still stretched over the armchair.

"I think she fancies you."

Aziraphale took a moment to process what his friend said then looked at him disapprovingly. "Don't be ridiculous. She was a very respectable, polite woman who had a bad day."

"No thanks to us. You think she was here the day your shop burned down?"

The angel gazed towards the door. Brow furrowing. "Seems likely."

"A lot of people died before the boy reset everything. She was probably just re-enacting doomsday without realizing it. I wouldn't worry about it happening again."

"No, it's not that."

"What?" Crowley questioned with a smirk. Mischief sparkling in his yellow eyes. "You sense something?"

"Stop that," Aziraphale complained. Attempting to seem serious, but coming off like a sibling telling their brother to quit teasing them. "It does no good to put any of those wicked notions in my head. I'm still an angel, after all."

"By the tips of your feathers maybe. Come on, you can't tell me you didn't feel anything when that woman first spoke to you. You made that face like you do whenever we're in an area filled with," he waved his hand. "Kindness, or whatever." Crowley sniffled. Not because he was cold or sick. Just something he did when he was uncomfortable and wanted to move on while still seeming casual. Nice words from his own lips still made him squirm. "What was it?"

"She was...very grateful, Crowley. That's all. Not everyone posseses ulterior motives like you."

"Oh, you can't be a total angel now, you're lying to yourself!"

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. Taking a step away. "Well I never-"

"Exactly. You've never. Now that we're on the human's side you don't have to listen to heaven's rules anymore. We make our own choices just like they do. You should know what it's like to experience human things, angel. More than just the food and literature."

"Just what are you suggesting?" he questioned the demon, expecting to reject the answer.

"I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting, but you're too "pure" and, frankly, scared to acknowledge that that woman," Crowley pointed. "Felt something for you."

"Oh really Crowley, you honestly believe I'm going to fall for your poor attempt at goading me into defying my nature by calling me cowardly?"

"I'd settle for just the falling bit."

"Honestly," Aziraphale tsked. Rolling his eyes and stepping away to his desk.

"Well I felt something. Just now, when she ran away." The demon stood and stalked across the floor slowly. "Fear, angel. Powerful stuff. And she had loads of it. Now I've spent enough time around humans trying to deny their desires to spot what temptation is best, and you know I'm good at it. More than good, and if I didn't know it'd be falling on deaf ears I'd be tempting her into seducing you right now."

Aziraphale shuffled notes and letters trying to keep his hands occupied. "Now I know you're joking. That sweet girl didn't harbor even a smidge of such heathenistic thoughts."

"And you obviously don't understand how hormonal humans are. They're always after pleasure."

"Crowley, I mean it," Aziraphale said sternly. Slamming a notebook on the desk then facing his friend with a glare. "I know what I felt from her. Now cease this at once."

Crowley came closer. Leaning on the desk with a wicked grin. Voice low and slow. It made the other man tense. Slightly uncomfortable, but standing his ground. Being used to the demon's assertive tendencies. "Tell me what she felt, angel. If it wasn't lust then why did she run off so fast?"

"It...sh-she..." His gaze flickered down to where he held down his notebook. Tone softening with his features as he recalled. "She felt love...and she wished to express that love back toward me. A pure sort of affection." He could see the ghost of her desire; their fingers interlocking as her body lay close and the world was silent.

Crowleys voice went up several octaves, dissatisfied. "And that was enough to frighten her? Wanting to kiss you?" His face dropped. Mouth contorting in odd angles. "Eh, actually, that'd make me wanna run screaming too."

"Don't be so rude. I thought it was a lovely dream."

"Oh you would, you massive prude. You wouldn't even kiss someone if they were fully clothed with their hands behind their back."

"Not every human's weakness is the same sin, Crowley, you should know that."

"Mm, I still think she wants to take you behind one of these bookshelves and show you that you don't need to know any languages to scream, only now I also think she's ashamed of her sexuality for some reason. My money's on her mother. It's always the parents fault."

"You're incorrigible."

"Aw, thanks. It takes a lot of work." Aziraphale huffed and gave up. Crowley could see he wasn't wanted anymore. He didn't want his friend truly mad at him. Just teasing him to the brink. "I'll come back later to see if its all crumbled spectacularly."

"Drive safe, Crowley."

He slid his sunglasses on again. Leaving with the last word; just how he liked it.

"At least try to not be so much of an angel, yeah? You are over six thousand years old; you're not that naive."


	3. A Promise Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy ends bring happy beginnings.

There was three months of relative sanity that gradually escalated into absolute mania. Mira sunk deeper into her dissolution. She found herself willing to risk the burning in her lungs. The days she spent with Aziraphale were always better than the ones without. Left with her thoughts and daydreams throughout lectures and sitting in her office at the university. It started small, as all temptations do.

After her first real intellectual conversation with him on the history of language and the study thereof she caught herself asking questions she normally wouldn't when writing up lessons. What would Aziraphale think about this topic? What might he answer for this question? If she was struggling with a phrase her mind wondered what words he might use.

Which all lead to her staring blankly at her computer presentation imagining herself at his book shop and asking those questions. Those daydreams quickly morphed her lecture questions into things she could say the next time she visited to see him smile, though. Mira loved seeing him smile, and when it was the direct effect of something she said it felt that much more beautiful and earned. Not just a thing that happened because of his natural cheer. Because she made him happy. His mood was absolutely sumptuous and she was starved for more time with him. She hoped spending more hours by Aziraphale's side would quell the desires that continued to scorch her heart, but it spread like wildfire. Charring her chest. Consuming her until not a day passed that she didn't think about being with Aziraphale. Plotting her options on how she could find excuses to be closer. She only wanted to hold him. To feel his fingers braided with hers and around her waist. The curves of their bodies molding and pressing nearer. His softness cushioning hers. She just wanted to be close with the person she loved.

"It's a pipe dream."

The sentence snapped Mira out of her thoughts. Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, reading glasses in his non-gloved hand sighing down at a thin, withering book. The cover had been almost completely disintegrated when it was dropped off. The pages brown and spotted. A young man from Scotland had inherited a box of old journals from his grandmother who passed and wanted to see if they could be saved. Aziraphale took them and said he would try his very best. According to the young fellow a few of the older ones dated back to the 18th century, and had been penned all in Gaelic, back when it was outlawed. He was a historian, he explained, and wished to see what, if any, secrets it held about his family and the culture abouts in an era where most of Scotland was rebelling against the English.

Mira was beside Aziraphale's desk on the sofa there and closed the book in her lap on her finger to keep her place. Tilting her head and preparing to speak to the shop owner. They had been sitting in companionable silence for a little over an hour. It would have been close to mid-day. A good time for a break.

"No new perspectives on the Scotland of old, I take it?"

"It's not that," he answered. "I spent all of last week cleaning and preparing them, but I can't finish it alone. I don't have the equipment to rebind some of the older ones properly, and the ink is fading. I'll need to take them to get photographed under a special light."

Mira had to laugh. "You're pouting because you can't read them right away?"

He turned to her. "Why is that so funny to you?"

"I would've thought a man who spends all his time meticulously and tediously restoring antique books would have more patience. Instead you're like a kid on Christmas who can't wait to play with his toys before the rest of his family opens their gifts too."

His brows relaxed, sitting straighter. "I am not a child. I was curious, that's all."

"Can you read Gaelic? Not even a lot of Scottish folk can."

"I was...brushing up on it," he shrugged. "I know the gentleman who owns these journals will be taking on the task of translating later on-"

"But you're excited," Mira interrupted. Grinning at his lame attempt at hiding his interest. "May I have a look?"

"Yes, of course, but I can't have you touching anything." Aziraphale moved his chair back. Making room for Mira to stand. She leaned over the desk. The journal in question was layed open sans spine and binding. Pages freshly cleaned and pressed. They were still yellowing and stained lightly in a few areas, but the mold and grime was gone. That at least would give it more life. As she stared at the words scrawled on the page open she understood his frustration. Sentences would fade with the ink. Not to complete disappearence, but enough that the strain was too great to get through more than parts of a page at a time. Photographs would clean up the lines and accent markers. Make it clearer. It would also preserve it past the paper so it could be studied longer.

"I'm no expert in Scottish Gaelic," she told the shop owner. Trying to scrabble together fragments off the page. "But I know a fair bit of Irish Gaelic, and they used to be the same language."

"Really? Tha-that's, well that's marvelous," Aziraphale exclaimed. Wiggling his shoulders a bit as he leaned forward. "Do you recognize anything at first glance?"

Mira looked at him and smirked. "Are you asking me to use my skills to spy into this man's family history, Aziraphale?"

"Spying sounds like we're scheming. He gave us these documents willingly knowing full well that I would read at least parts them."

"I'm teasing you. You're utterly blessed to know an expert in linguistics and language history like me."

"Not like you," he gently corrected with a smile. "I'm blessed to know you, my dear."

Mira turned her attention back to his desk to hide the heat creeping up her chest to her face. Doing her best not to let on she was flustered. "You're even luckier it's the Ulster dialect I know. It's the closest to Scottish Gaelic."

"Does that mean...you would be willing to assist me?"

"I thought you were sending it off to get bound and photographed."

"I-I will, but it wouldn't hurt if...perhaps we got a quick preview? Just for today, and then I'll take them first thing tomorrow."

A full afternoon studying an old text and discussing translation options directly with Aziraphale? Sitting beside him and sharing parts from both of their biggest passions? The thought alone made her heart race. Mira didn't expend the energy to be coy and agreed.

"All right. I can already guess whoever wrote this was involved in one of the rebellions."

"How?"

"There." Mira pointed. Careful not to touch the paper as instructed. "That word: Jacobite. That was the name of the group who tried to remantle the old Stuarts on the English throne in the 18th century. But first," Mira straightened her posture. "Let's have lunch."

"Good idea," he agreed. Aziraphale tugged the glove off his hand and stood with her. Fetching his jacket off a rack nearby.

"Have any cravings today?"

"Not quite so much as usual. Why don't you decide."

"In that case I'm thinking...pho. Agreeable?"

"A splendid choice as always, darling," he grinned.

She set the novel she had been working through aside. He walked to the door with her, held it open while she exited the shop, flipped the sign in the window, and locked up. From there it was a few blocks to the small restaurant. The journey was easy, and it felt good to stretch her stiff legs after sitting all morning. Time often ran away from Mira on the weekends in his book shop. If she wasn't careful daylight would totally elude her notice until it was slipping away and her eyes strained to read the words in the books; so absorbed she would become in the literature.

Aziraphale once told her he admired her focus. Which was a compliment difficult to accept. After all, the past few weeks she had done significantly less research due to one key distraction: him. Her gaze repeatedly drifting up to catch glimpses of him re-ordering books on the shelves or performing maintenence on older copies at his desk. Having to read over several dozens of passages because her thoughts had wandered to the shop owner. It was positively shameful how lovesick she had become.

In all of her...observation, Mira noticed a pattern with Aziraphale's speech as well as his actions. When he held the door it reminded her. So she used their lunch out together to test the reliability of his manners. It was inanely predictable. He opened the door for her. He pulled out one of the chairs at the table and waited for her to sit. He let her order first, and never once interrupted or spoke over her when she told him little anecdotes of her week.

The chats they shared were treasured to Mira. Not only for their mutual interests, but because she was able to learn more about Aziraphale. He wasn't so much shy as she just had to know the right questions to ask. She chalked it up to an unreliable memory. He had endless stories to tell, but he wouldn't remember them until she sparked something related in his brain.

"The cute little angel figurine next to the Bibles is a bit ironic, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, I remember when I got those. I believe I was in Venice and there was this curious glass blower..."

Something like that.

What Mira truly loved the most about having conversation with Aziraphale was his countenance. She could tell he was really listening and processing what she said. So when he replied it was always well regarded and thoughtful. His enthusiasm difficult to tamper. Mira loved his boundless optimism and joy. It made her happy in turn. She could only hope she sparked that same feeling in him as she did her best to give him the same courtesies and wisdom. She also hadn't known it was possible for someone's face to be sore from smiling too much, but after a few months the muscles around her mouth had grown stronger. They got their use in, even sitting across from Aziraphale over steaming bowls of pho.

He insisted on paying when they were leaving. It was cheap food so Mira didn't protest too much. Walking back through the crowds of people to his book shop. She contemplated asking to take his arm, but there was no excuse available. It wasn't cold, and it wasn't raining where they might huddle under a shared umbrella--which never worked anyway--and it certainly didn't seem appropriate to use the vast majority of the pavement width when there was so much foot traffic. Mira felt her chest actually ache. Heart calling out with a mute voice. No way to expunge all the feeling. There was so much...yearning and wanting, but no action. She wasn't a woman who sat around pining and wondering and internalizing, but that's exactly what she had been doing. She was sick of it. Mira had to tell him. To try.

"Aziraphale...?"

They were inside the cozy quiet of the shop once more. The closed sign was still flipped. So they could focus on the Gaelic journal, she suspected. She wasn't sure they would ever translate it though.

He shook his arms out of his coat and hung it on a wooden rack with a few others. "Yes my dear?" He turned. Straightening his vest that had not wrinkled. Standing an arms length away in the threshold of his office.

Mira wrung her hands, realized what she was doing, and gestured animatedly as usual. First by putting her fingers out straight and slicing the air with both hands downward. "I can't cope with this anymore." One hand went through her hair. Aziraphale's smile dropped. His worry showing on his forehead. "Every time I'm even near you I feel like I'm asphyxiating."

Aziraphale took a half-step closer. Words rushing from his lips. "What is it? Are you all right? Perhaps it's my cologne. Are you allergic? You should have said something sooner."

"It's my heart," she admitted with a break. Her voice coloring her confession. Likewise his tone sombered. Serious and focused, and a smidge apprehensive.

"What about your heart? Would you prefer to be seated for this?"

Mira huffed out an airy laugh. "You know, sometimes I think the word gentleman was created for you. I know the etymology says it was for nobles because I looked it up, but fuck does that word fit you in every sense of it. You're kind, and honest, and thoughtful, and so damn courteous and pleasant. More than pleasant. I completely, utterly, and unequivocally want to absolutely lavish you with affection Aziraphale."

"Affection as in..."

"Romantic affection," Mira clarified. He stood stunned. Warmth flowing to his cheeks. His eyes darting around. She tried to stem the tidal wave of thoughts. Getting his attention by speaking some more. "I want to be clear. I'm asexual. I know that can cause some people to be a bit distant, but it doesn't cheapen how much I feel for you."

"Oh darling of course not." Aziraphale closed the gap and gripped her arms. Holding her in his gaze. "I understand completely."

"Really?"

"Yes." Aziraphale reached up and touched her cheek lightly. Ghosting down the edge of her jaw and sliding off her chin. The heat from his face acting as embers to warm his smile. "I am as well."

Mira laughed. A giant weight off her shoulders. "I've wanted to be closer with you since the first time we met, but I was so scared."

"Why?"

"You seemed too good to be true."

"Well, I'm not perfect."

"No one is, but my desires haven't settled over the months." His eyes were so close, and so lovely. Aziraphale hadn't shown any mark of disinterest so Mira's courage carried her to continue. Spilling her heart to the book shop owner. All the things she had only thought of telling him before reaching him. "Have you ever wanted to be with someone so badly that your chest hurt? Not even doing anything; just holding one another. Content and comfortable and safe. I think about it all the time with you and it was driving me crazy not telling you. At some point I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't, you know? I had to say something to figure out how you feel because then at least I'll know and I can move on."

"Why ever would you need to move on?"

Mira blinked at him. Unsure where he was leading with the question. "In case you don't...feel the same way."

"And what way is that?" he asked. Hands falling from her arms. He appeared...neutral. Like he was having a normal conversation with a friend. His anxious energy had vanished. Waiting patiently for her answer. Then it occurred to her. It was confidence that had replaced his worry. He knew how he was going to respond to her because he already knew what she was about to say. He wanted to hear it blunt and simple and neatly put. So she finally said the words out loud.

"I love you."

The corner of his mouth lifted, and Mira didn't dare to hope. Heart fluttering.

"I wish to make a confession of my own." She waited with her heartbeat in her throat. His soothing, silvery voice running from his lips and coating her ears. "I've lived what you may call a...varied life, and I hold a deep love and appreciation for all of those memories. I've met a lot of people, and traveled quite a bit. I've always loved seeing the wonders the world has to offer. The animals, the scenery, the people. I even went snorkling one time. But In all those years I never thought I could love someone the way I have with you. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'fallen in love', I think." Aziraphale shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Glancing to the floor before meeting Mira's gaze again. "It's different with you. It hurts more...but I can't help but want the same things as you're talking about. These feeling are...odd, but in a wonderful, fantastical sort of way. Oh dear I hope I'm being clear enough. Did that make any amount of sense to you?"

She was breathless. Joy flooding her senses. Now that she knew he felt the same it was all she could do to not yank him close by the waistcoat and crash their lips together. The small voice in the back of her head stayed her hand. She wanted to be certain he was comfortable with that kind of physical contact. She would risk sounding awkward for his sake.

"Are you all right with kissing?"

"Typically it's a bit too...amorous for me, but, well-yes-I suppose if it was you asking-"

"I am asking," Mira interrupted. "May I kiss you?"

He blinked. Hands clenching and relaxing. A million thoughts churned in his eyes. An eternity passed in the seconds it took for him to consider. Then he nodded.

"I'd be delighted."

Mira threw her arms around Aziraphale. He gasped as he was all at once saturated with her. Mouths interlocking like the light of a sunset. His red and purple tinged clouds blending with her pink and blue horizon. Heaven and Earth meeting and mixing. Bound and boundless in each others love.

One of Mira's hands slid up into Aziraphale's hair. Fingers tangling in the short blonde locks. Sharing space and feeling and spirit. He was soft and warm. Even as his hands held her waist. Barely resting on her curves. She pulled away first. Afraid of overstepping his limits.

Aziraphale looked at her through hooded eyes, smirking. "I'm not certain I've mentioned it before but...I do so enjoy your passion." Then he chased the setting sun; lips pressed to hers once more. Tasting the ardor that often made her gaze tender toward him. Memorizing the shape of her. Careful, slow movements taking her further from the surface. Coloring the sky more vibrant. Cradling her as his arms wrapped her in an embrace that felt like the she had been bathed in light. Iridescent and shimmering deep into her skin. Flaming, filling her chest with such a fierce satisfaction and peace she had never known before. And she was certain that this must be what true love is like. Clear and uncluttered. Burning like a beacon.

When they seperated Mira felt the vastness of light linger. Aziraphale pressed his cheek to hers. Breath caressing the slope of her neck. Precious flecks glimmering, glittering between them.

Her arms tightened their embrace. Fingers bunching the back of his vest. Searing in the exquisite closeness of simply being.

His head drew back slowly. Eyes so blue she could swear she was still in the clouds. Then he smiled. Gentle in every meaning of the word. Fulfilling his namesake. More after the end. A dawn after the dark. A promise.


End file.
